


I'm Not The Only One

by 8Lbs



Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8Lbs/pseuds/8Lbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is too lost in his thoughts to hear the balcony door sliding open or the sound of footsteps coming up from behind him. He only notices the other person when a strong arm wraps around his waist, pulling him into an equally strong chest. “Where I come from Falcons aren’t solitary birds,” A cultured and distinctively African voice whispers hotly into Sam ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam breathes a sign of relief, he loosens the noose (tie) around his neck and leans against the balcony railing. Below him New York City is a hustle and bustle of neon lights, sounds and people. It reminds him of those tacky pictures hanging up on coffee shop walls. The ones where a screenshot of someone unknown city is shown and the cars, building, and people are a blur of motion and streaks luminous lights. Which in its self wasn’t entirely unlike the Stark party he’s currently escaping from. It was like something taken straight out of The Great Gatsby, stepping off the elevator and being greeted by Stark, who held up a martini glass in recognition. Behind the billionaire was a sea of dancing people, flashing lights, and thumping music.  
  
It had been exhilarating, but as the night drew on and the theatrics grew boulders, like Stark having confetti rain down on his guest after a rousing speech about the prolong need for the Avengers initiative, Sam found himself wanting a moment to gather his thoughts. "Man, what am I doing?” Sam wonders as he stares up the starless night sky. He is at the most exclusive, lavish party in all of New York City, surrounded by beautiful people and alcohol and yet he couldn’t really enjoy himself because his thoughts keep circulating back to Steve. Sam huffs under his breath. He could believe he is still hung up about this. There is nothing to be hung up about because Steve hadn’t asked him out on a date point, blank period.  
  
Sam is the one who took a leap of faith, read between the lines until they blurred in his favor when Steve corner him in his kitchen after their morning run, face flush with something other than exhaustion, spouting on about some party Stark was hosting, Sam had literally jumped at the chance to be Steve plus 1. Granted, Steve never once used the word date or gave any real inkling that he’s interested in anything beyond a friendship with Sam. But in his defense, even Matt Murdock could see that their friendship is anything but platonic. It started with stealthy glances checking each other out while running, flirtatious on your left from Steve as he laps him, and Sam not so subtly come-on about how _hard_  Steve bed is.  He’d deliver that particularly clever euphemism while being sprawled on the ground, lungs burning, and sweat running down his back and stinging his eye. Even though his body felt like it was dying his brain and dick caught on to the fact hot, red-blooded American male is hitting on him.  
  
Looking back Sam should have known it wasn’t a date. It should have known long before Natasha pulled up in a black Camaro with Steve riding shotgun. He should have known when Jarvis introduced himself as Stark personal A. I system in the elevator where Natasha was standing arm and arm with Steve. It had hit home after stepping off the elevator and getting pushed aside by a swarm of reporters. Sam had to admit they looked good together, Steve with his blond hair, chiseled jaw and boy next door charm and Natasha with her red hair pin underneath a bouncy blond wig and blue contacts looked like they stepped right out the pages of People magazine.  
  
_“Boy, if you keep that up the only exercise you’re going to get Is from jumping to conclusion.”_  
  
Sam shakes his head fondly remembering his mother words, of course back then she’d been referring to Riley and not Steve. Sam spent the summer following his high school graduation butting heads with his best friend. Contrary to popular belief, back then, Sam didn’t have a problem with Riley applying and being accepted into Air Force Academy. He did however have a problem with Riley deciding without confining in him first that after graduation he would be attending completely shooting down any objection Sam had. Who does that? The plan went like this they were going to attend the same university, be roommates all four years, and graduate with a degree in sports medicine and clinical psychology. So when Riley decides to shoot that plan to hell Sam figured that either Riley was going to leave him behind or he didn’t want him to come with. Of course, both scenarios couldn’t be further from the truth, but Sam head was too far up his own ass to see that luckily his mom was there to pull it out.  
  
_“Riley wouldn’t survive a week if you’re not there to catch him. He’s needs a wingmen Sam. He knows that, you know that.”_  
  
Sam grips on the railing tightens, he takes a series of deep breath in and out. His mother had been wrong. Riley lasted a hell-of-allot longer than a week before Sam grew a pair and followed his pasty ass to Colorado. And it didn’t matter if he was Riley wingmen or not because in war there are always casualties. Nobody told Sam that some casualties hit closer to home than others. Sam closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten. When he reaches one the piercing whistle of an RPG whizzing through the air isn’t ringing in his ears and smell of burnt flesh leaves his nostrils.  
  
Sam is too lost in his thoughts to hear the balcony door sliding open or the sound of footsteps coming up from behind him. He only notices the other person when a strong arm wraps around his waist, pulling him into an equally strong chest. “Where I come from Falcons aren’t solitary birds,” A cultured and distinctively African voice whispers hotly into Sam ear. Sam couldn’t suppress the shiver that runs down his spine and curl his toes. He goes weak at the knees and T’Challa is more than happy to support the other man weight. It takes a second longer than Sam would like to admit for it to dawn on him he’s embracing a complete stranger. T’Challa grins widen at Sam skittish behavior, like a bird who feathers are being ruffed Sam recoils back from him.  
  
Whatever retort Sam has died in his throat as he openly gapes at T’Challa. The man is tall, board in the places that count, and is fitted in a 3 piece navy blue suit. Sam could see some of his own features reflected back at him. Like a strong stubble jaw, full brown lips, a broad, flat nose, almond shape eyes, and dark hair clipped close to the scalp with a fade going down the temple. But on T’Challa the feature were more prominent refined in a way that was equal parts alluring and exotic. A flash of white teeth snaps Sam out of his daze. There is small curve to T’Challa lips, like he finds something terribly funny, that when Sam realized he’s been openly checking the other man out. Fluster Sam lowers his gaze and clear his throat.  
  
“You are a very amusing man Sam Wilson” T’Challa says fondly. “I am used to stares of admiration there is no need to look away.” T’Challa advances toward Sam, every step forward T’Challa takes Sam mimics by taking a step, back tills his lower back is flush against the metal rails. Sam meek behavior all but vanishes as he stares with a suddenly very cold, very apprehensive gaze that pins T’Challa in place with its intensity. “For a complete stranger, you seem to know a hell of a lot about me. My name, my alias.” Sam lists, suddenly hyper aware how isolated he is, even though potential backup is a couple of steps away if the situation escalated. And with the add bonus of not having his wings Sam could feel a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.  
  
T’Challa is very pleased with Sam observation. “Brains and beauty,” He purrs approvingly in his head. He grabs Sam hand, startle Sam try to pull away, but T’Challa grip is unrelenting. “Oh, I know more than just your name, T’Challa replies his voice drops an octave, making his words seem more private more intimidate. Sam would be a liar with his pants on fire if he said smoother than honey voice or the thumb currently stroking his knuckles wasn’t doing something for him. “Is that so?” Sam challenges. There is an air of playfulness to his tone despite the underlying tension. T’Challa arches a brow, “Very so,” He says bringing Sam hand to mouth kissing each individual knuckle before letting go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is all clench jaw, narrow eyes, and thin pressed lips as he weaves in and out of crowds of people looking for Sam.

Steve is all clench jaw, narrow eyes, and thin pressed lips as he weaves in and out of crowds of people looking for Sam. He can’t help but think, “This isn’t night I had planned”, while he surveyed the room again with a level look. He understood that wealth is more accessible these days, but coming from the era of the great depression when it is excessively thrown in his face is still a hard pill to swallow. Steve jaw is clench so hard his teeth began to grind together in frustration the only reason he agreed to attend Stark swanky event is because he thought he would have the chance to make a pass at Sam.  
  
_“Cap, Cap over here. Tell us who are you wearing”?_  
  
_“Who’s the beautiful lady on your arm?”_  
  
_“ Holy . . . shit that Black Widow. Why the blond wig?”_  
  
But a series flashing bulbs a swarm of bodies circling them pressing Natasha and himself together till Sam was just a face in the crowd efficiently killed that dream. Natasha trails behind Steve, following his tense broad shoulders, with a drink in her hand that is more for show than actually drinking. Steve stops by entrance to double staircase and turns to her. “I can’t find Sam.” He announces, voice edging on a whine, to Natasha as if she hadn’t put two and two together as to why they're currently making rounds around the room.  Natasha arches a brow and tilts her head up to Steve. “So you can’t find the person you have been avoiding all night. Shocking.” She lets her lips wrap around the word _shocking,_ placing great emphasis on how ridiculous she found that statement.   
  
Steve chin rose defensively. “I haven’t been avoiding Sam.”  The words sounded like a lie, even to his own ears. After the paparazzi hound them it felt as though he and Sam have been a room apart all night.  The closest he got to Sam so far tonight is when Stark stood in the center of the room amidst the chaos of the party. Steve caught snippets of the speech, the need for the avengers initiative to continue, earning the public trust because as Fury so eloquently puts it, “the avengers are a group of derange white people with problems running around in costume. Why should anybody give a damn?”, and Stark personally footing the bill for reconstructing the parts of New York City destroyed Chitauri invasions.  
  
The noise in the room raised several decibels there were  eruptions of cheers, jeers, and a couple of miscellaneous boos that Tony seem to eat up judging by I-don’t- give –a flying-fuck what- anybody- has- to-say grin plaster on his face. But Steve hadn’t been paying attention not when Stark raised both arms to shoulder level in a mock Jesus pose while red and gold confetti rain down from the ceiling because Sam, who stood opposite of Steve was smiling in his direction.  
  
It was as if time slows down, the way the small shimmery paper cascade down, throwing the crowd into a frenzy. All the sound in the room sucked out as Steve zone in on Sam, who look angelic as gold confetti rain down on him reflecting the light in the room. Sam didn’t have a smile that lit up the room no his is more private and it didn’t matter who he’d directed it toward it had a way of drawling a person in. Steve couldn’t handle the intensity of it, the way Sam gap stood out amidst row pearly white teeth and the dimples in the cheek that deepen as his smile widen. Steve had been so flustered that he looked away completely missing the hurt/confused look that Sam sent his way.

  
Natasha stares at him full minute, her eyes are intense enhance by the blue contacts, and unlike the rest of her they weren’t all expressive, they are cold, like ice. She takes in his brooding expression his downturn pink lips, furrowed dark blond brows, and distant eyes. Steve has a face of planes and angles that sorted themselves out in a pleasing symmetry:  a strong nose, a jaw that could take a punch, hair a dirtier blond than her own, and a cowlick at the side part making it dip attractively over the high board forehead. Every man looked good in a formal suit, but his perfectly proportioned physique filled it with superb class.  He had the look; the look of a man every woman wanted to be with and every man wanted to be like. And yet Steve couldn’t look her in the eyes. 

  
“You are so full of shit, Natasha concludes, and you’re a terrible liar.”   
  
Steve eyes widened and his body tenses. “Language, Tasha.” He scolds sounding every bit of a prude from the 1940s. Natasha rolls his eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches upwards. “You know I’m right.” Her singsong voice carries over to Steve like a punch to the gut.    
  
Steve scrunches up his lips but doesn’t say anything. What could he say that Natasha hasn’t already heard? What excuse could he throw at her that she wouldn’t just boomeranged back at him with a side of truth to it?  Natasha face softens clearly reading Steve thoughts, she places a comforting hand on his right bicep. “Be honest, you like him don’t you.”

Steve hesitates for a moment before replying, “Yeah”, with a nod of his head, his voice comes out strain full of emotions he can’t quite name. Satisfied with his answer Natasha removes her hand and takes a sip of her drink. She is stalling for time as she mentally debates how she wants to handle Steve confession. Steve stares at her, urging Natasha to say more with his eyes, but instead she keeps quiet and continues to sip her drink nonchalantly. 

* * *

 

“Oh, I know more than just your name, T’Challa replies his voice drops an octave, making his words seem more private more intimidate. Sam would be a liar with his pants on fire if he said smoother than honey voice or the thumb currently stroking his knuckles wasn’t doing something for him. “Is that so?” Sam challenges. There is an air of playfulness to his tone despite the underlying tension. T’Challa arches a brow, “Very so,” He says bringing Sam hand to mouth kissing each individual knuckle before letting go.

T’Challa hands were strong yet slender, clearly nimble, and Sam vaguely wonders what they would feel like skimming over his body as T’Challa released his hand. The press of his lips across Sam knuckle had been dry but searing with warmth that hit Sam like a shot of Tennessee whiskey. Sam legs felt shaky’ like Bambi trying to take his first steps shaky, he wants to drop to his knee on the spot, because he figures it will less embarrassing if its voluntary than his legs giving out.  
  
“I know you’re a man of your word. A solider with a healer soul.” T’Challa continues. “Very seldom do people who experience loss bounce back and even more seldom do they share how they bounce back with the others.” T’Challa mutter a cryptic, “I have experienced loss yet I’m and at odds when comforting others, before adding, the work you do with VA speak volume about your character.”  
  
As T’Challa rambles off Sam accomplishment he couldn’t help but feel flustered under the collar. He hasn’t dealt well with receiving praise after serving only two tours and watching his brother being knocked out of dame sky. The feeling of inadequacy bubble in Sam throat, he inhales deeply and swallowed hard, forcing it bad down to be dissolved in the acid of his stomach.  When he focuses on T’Challa again, he staring at Sam. Sam realized just how distracted, he is and mentally shakes himself. It had been a long time since he’d had a relationship-any relationship- whether it be with a man or women. His response to T’Challa is nothing more than a sex stared teenager with a case of the raging hormones. “You know so much about me yet I know so little about you.” Sam relaxes and smiles turning on that good ole Wilson charm.  His eyes have a sparkle in their brown depths that T’Challa would love to explore in a more intimate setting.

To say that T’Challa is thoroughly aroused would be an understatement of the century. In his head, he imagines hoisting Sam up on the railing, his long legs deliciously wrapping themselves around T’Challa waist as he ruts his pelvic against Sam groin. T’Challa would look down at the same time Sam would look up their eyes meeting in a passionate gaze. He slowly rolls his hips eliciting a series of moans from Sam lips as he deliberately takes him apart thrust by thrust.  
  
  
T’Challa shivers he is getting ahead of himself. “Perhaps we can change that over a cup of coffee.”  
  
  
Sam eyebrows shot up. “Smooth, He thinks, very smooth,”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Jaja17 I think you left Kudos for every story I’ve posted Archive of Our own which is a huge confidence boost I need when it comes to my writing.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoy writing this chapter, not only did I get to touch on Sam having PTSD but I got to write a story featuring two canon character of color with diverse background. T’Challa isn't slated to be in the Marvel cinematic universe til 2016 so I'll be taking allot of liberties with his characterization. I'm totally crushing on Chadwick Boseman so in this story its gonna stay true to the cast. Everyone except Ororo Munroe who is going to played by Jessica White.
> 
> Please comment, kudos, or feel free to message me I love hearing from anybody who takes the time to read my stories.


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